


Not Much of a Life You're Living

by only_because3



Category: Glee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_because3/pseuds/only_because3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn doesn’t break eye contact but Santana knows that she’s not looking at her anymore. “I am not my mother.” Quinn takes a breath for the first time since Santana stomped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Much of a Life You're Living

**Author's Note:**

> Written before Quinn's return in the beginning of season 4, when things were just speculation. Mentions abuse

“All that time you bitched about Judy,” Santana spits, shaking her head. Quinn keeps folding Santana’s shirts, each crease perfect (and if it’s not, Quinn refolds it starting at step 1). Her hair, which reminds Santana too much of Quinn’s hair early sophomore year (and _that_ reminds Santana of too much), hangs so that Quinn can once again hide from the world.  
  
    “Do not say that to me,” Quinn says, her voice just as even as the folds in Santana’s shirts.  
  
    “Fuck that.” Santana snatches her shirt from Quinn’s hands (the pale blue cotton is soft against her hand and it surprises her that she can recognize which shirt it is just by touch) and hurls it to the ground, the silk screened rubber duck just a sliver of yellow in a tub of blue. “The teacher-”  
  
    “He’s a graduate student,” Quinn interrupts. “He’s a TA.”  
  
    “I don’t give a shit _what_ he is. He hit you.” Quinn laughs (but everyone knows that 95% of Quinn’s laughs do not hold any mirth and this laugh is not apart of the minority) and grabs a handful of underwear from Santana’s overflowing basket.  
  
    “He didn’t hit me.” Quinn’s hands move faster as she folds and Santana rolls her eyes.  
  
    “Look. At. Me.” Quinn finishes folding what’s in her lap before locking eyes with Santana. There is the faintest discoloration around Quinn’s right eye, something Santana probably never would’ve noticed if she’d seen Quinn look less than perfect more than twice in their friendship. Quinn arches a brow, shrugs her shoulders just a little. “I can see, idiot.”  
  
    “See what,” Quinn challenges. “My lack of sleep?” Quinn tries to keep folding but Santana pulls the basket away from her. The blonde huffs, folding her arms under her chest. “I just took three exams and had four papers due before I flew here. I could be sleeping because I’m _tired_ , but instead I’m helping you.”  
  
    “You don’t let people see you tired and even on the rare occasions I have, you didn’t look like this.” Quinn goes to open her mouth and Santana already knows what she’s going to say ( _‘Things change, Santana’_ and she’ll say it with a winning smirk that’s too habitual to hide before asking if Santana knows how Brittany is), so Santana stomps her foot on the floor. Quinn flinches, her lips pursing just slightly when she bites down on the inside of her cheek as a reflex, and Santana swallows hard. “It is around one eye, Quinn.”  
  
    Quinn doesn’t break eye contact but Santana knows that she’s not looking at her anymore. “I am not my mother.” Quinn takes a breath for the first time since Santana stomped. “He has partial control over my grade-”  
  
    “Jesus,” Santana mutters under her breath, readjusting her weight until her hip nudges the basket back towards Quinn. Instantly, the blonde begins folding again, her body visibly relaxing. “You need to file a complaint or a report, or, or both. I mean, you should still be able to do that right? He’s not a real teacher so you can’t be penalized for fucking him.”  
  
    Quinn studies three socks in her lap, trying to find the matching pair. “I haven’t done that.” She bundles the socks together and then tucks her hair behind her ears (and suddenly Santana can see just how thick the make up is over Quinn's eye). Quinn touches the corner of her eye, smiling weakly. “It’s why I got this.” Santana’s hands curl around the edge of the basket. “But filing anything against him won’t help. It’ll still get back to me and besides, he’s an alumni boy. So… That’s that.”  
  
    “That’s that? You’re just going to… what? Let him hit you? Let him _rape_ you so you don’t fail a fucking class?”  
  
    “Santana,” Quinn sighs. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Quinn reaches over and puts her hand over Santana’s clenched fist.  
  
    Santana shakes her head. “It’s _not_ okay.”  
  
    Quinn tilts her head and tries to smile again. “But _I_ am.” She squeezes Santana’s hand before falling back against Santana’s pillows. “Besides, this is hardly the worst thing to happen to me.”  
  
    Santana didn’t realize Quinn still had a great enough hold on her heart nor that Santana had enough left to break.


End file.
